


Monster

by cambangst



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, Courtroom Drama, Gen, Werewolves, Wizengamot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 03:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6686665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cambangst/pseuds/cambangst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"For evil to flourish, it only requires good men to do nothing." - Simon Wiesenthal</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Sheep's Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It is madness for sheep to talk peace with a wolf." - Thomas Fuller

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, that which you recognize from the books belongs to JK Rowling

Hermione Weasley adjusted the reading glasses on her nose and fixed her adversary with a disappointed stare as she slid the sheet of parchment back across the polished oak table. “Sorry, but this just won’t do.”  
  
  
“Counselor,” the man replied with a forced smile, “I assure you, this is a _very_ generous compromise. It took a lot of arm-twisting to get even the more moderate pure blood members of the Wizengamot to agree to this.” His hands hovered over the parchment, as though he expected her to take it back in order to re-read his offer. His face projected patience and understanding, but his body language betrayed a great deal of nervous tension. She smiled indulgently at him as she sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.  
  
  
“With all due respect, _counselor_ ,” she emphasized his title, even though they were on a first-name basis, “we both know that you can do better than this.”  
  
  
“Mrs. Weasley... Hermione, please.” His beseeching tone didn’t faze her. Her expression remained uncompromising, her eyes flinty and cold. “You’re proposing a very substantial modification to the Statute of Secrecy. This isn’t something that can be undertaken lightly. There’s too much history to be taken into account.”  
  
  
“The fact that an injustice has existed for generations is not an excuse to perpetuate it,” she countered. Her voice rose slightly. “Times have changed. We muggle-borns no longer have to live in shame and invent magical ancestors to hide our family history. Even at their haughty little dinner parties, the pure bloods will concede that much. Muggle-borns have earned our place in this world. For you to tell me that my parents can’t come see me at St. Mungo’s if I’m sick or attend their grandson’s Hogwarts graduation... That’s simply not acceptable.”  
  
  
“Hermione, try to understand where I’m coming from,” he answered, raising his palms in a conciliatory gesture before her temper really began to get out of control. “There are very valid reasons why the Statute of Secrecy is written as stringently as it is, and they have nothing to do with pureblood supremacy. Need I remind you that before the Statute, witches and wizards were hunted like animals and burned at the stake? This isn’t a matter of prejudice, it’s a simple matter of safety and security.”  
  
  
“I am well aware of the history of the Statue,” she snapped back, leaning forward in her chair once again. “It’s irrelevant to the matter at hand. My mother and father already know I’m a witch, as do the immediate families of nearly all muggle-born members of our society! So spare me your rhetoric on what this is really about. If this isn’t prejudice, I don’t know what is.”  
  
  
Being conciliatory was obviously getting him nowhere, and his face hardened. “Mrs. Weasley, I understand the desire of muggle-borns to integrate their families more fully into their lives, but we need to have reasonable limits. Muggles aren’t ready to see some of the things that they would unavoidably see if they were allowed to wander the corridors of St. Mungo’s or Hogwarts. There would be incidents! Misunderstandings!”  
  
  
“You want a misunderstanding?” Her voice turned low and forbidding. Her brown eyes blazed as her soft voice seemed to fill the silent room. “Ask Dennis Creevey about the _misunderstanding_ that his parents still have about Hogwarts. See, since they lost their son in the war, they’ve been under the distinct impression that the school is nothing but a killing field! And all poor Dennis wanted to show them was the truth. He wanted them to attend the memorial service and see first-hand that Hogwarts was actually a place where children are kept safe while they learn to control and use their magic.” Her voice rose and her eyes flashed dangerously. “He wanted to show them so they would let him come back to school and finish his education. He wanted to get a job with the Daily Prophet, where he could carry on his brother’s love of photography. He wanted to honor the things that Colin fought and died for.” She was standing now. Shouting. Breathtaking in her fury. “But he couldn’t. The rules didn’t allow it. So he had to wait two whole years, until he came of age. This is how your bigoted, anti-muggle laws treated one of the heroes of the war. But no, this isn’t about prejudice, is it?”  
  
  
The man sitting across from her sat frozen for a few moments. Finally, he began to clap slowly. “Amazing,” he said, slightly breathless. “Aunt Hermione, that was incredible. But...”  
  
  
It took Hermione a couple of moments to calm down, but she finally caught her breath and stared quizzically at her nephew. “The part about Dennis was too over the top, wasn’t it?”  
  
  
“No, not most of it,” Albus replied quickly, then his serious face melted into a grin. “But _maybe_ you shouldn’t mention the part about the job at the Prophet. After all, he _has_ worked there since before I was born.”  
  
  
Hermione shook her head and smiled sheepishly at him. “Alright, then, I’ll dial that back just a bit.”  
  
  
She couldn’t help beaming at her nephew while he jotted down a few notes. As disappointed as Harry had been when Albus decided to join the Department of Magical Law instead of entering the Auror training program, Hermione couldn’t even pretend to be sympathetic. In just over a year, he had become one of the most promising young staffers in the department. It didn’t hurt that everyone knew exactly who he was related to, but his natural talent and relentless work ethic had already earned the respect of many of his colleagues. More than anything, Albus Severus Potter was determined to make a name for himself, separate and distinct from the three famous names that had defined so much of his young life.  
  
  
As she worked with him more and more, Hermione started to use Albus as a sounding board for her more radical ideas. He had a keen mind and readily held his own in a debate. While he was young and inexperienced, he also hadn’t become bogged down in the conventional ideas about what was and wasn’t possible within the stuffy bureaucracy of the Ministry of Magic. Although she rarely admitted it, Hermione liked the idea of having a protege, a bright and eager young man who paid rapt attention when she went on about her various causes. With his energy and her experience, she felt like there was no problem they couldn’t solve.  
  
  
She shuffled her notes to a different page and studied them for a moment. “We have one more hour before the meeting with Mr. Coutridge. Let’s go over this once more, only this time make the counter-proposal something on elvish welfare instead of just a watered-down version of the muggle-born family access amendment. I’m worried that they might try to-”  
  
  
Hermione paused, interrupted by a knock at her office door. After a moment, it opened and her secretary poked her head inside. “This just came for you by owl, Hermione,” the young witch said nervously, holding out a ratty-looking package wrapped in newspaper and bound with clear tape. “It didn’t have any return address.”  
  
  
Albus started to stand, but Hermione was faster. She flicked her wand and the package floated away from the secretary, who seemed relieved to see it leave her hands. It landed gracefully on a small table in the corner of the office as Hermione rounded her desk with a concerned look on her face. “Stay where you are,” she said to her nephew, eyeing the mysterious parcel from several feet away. She started waving her wand around the table, mumbling incantations under her breath.  
  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
  
“Warding this corner of the room, in case it’s something dangerous,” she replied without looking away.  
  
  
Albus sat up straight and slid to the edge of his chair. “Dangerous? Shouldn’t you call-”  
  
  
“Your dad? Not until I make sure that this thing isn’t going to explode or curse the whole room.” She continued to sweep the small space around the table with protective enchantments, layering the magical protections and weaving them together. When she was satisfied, she turned and regarded her nephew gravely. “We should be perfectly safe, but if anything happens, don’t be a hero. Go and find your dad or your Uncle Ron.”  
  
  
“Wait, shouldn’t we...” Albus tried to protest, but Hermione had already slipped her wand hand tentatively inside the wards.  
  
  
“ _Specialis Revelio._ ” Hermione cast the revealing spell over the package and it glowed slightly with an inner light for a moment. “Hmmnnn, just some relatively common enchantments inside. Doesn’t seem to be anything dangerous.”  
  
  
“Look, Aunt Hermione, are you sure we...” Albus’s voice faded as Hermione used a severing charm to slice through the tape holding the package closed. As the wrapping unfolded, she wrinkled her nose, looking mildly surprised.  
  
  
“This is muggle newsprint,” she mumbled absently, studying the writing. “Looks like yesterday’s Belfast Telegraph. Nothing but a plain cardboard box inside.”  
  
  
Albus rose from his chair and peered over her shoulder. “Nanna would wrap circles around whoever sent this. It looks like a Troll’s handiwork.”  
  
  
With great caution, Hermione used her wand to slice through the tape holding the box closed. The flaps slowly opened, revealing a folded newspaper. Levitating the newspaper to the side revealed an old book, with crinkled pages poking out from underneath the worn leather cover.  
  
  
“Looks like a copy of _The Standard Book of Spells_ ,” Albus observed, “but this one has sure seen better days. Maybe someone’s still mad at you for blowing the curve on a test?”  
  
  
Hermione barely heard her nephew’s weak attempt at a joke. Her eyes were locked on a sliver of purple ribbon sticking out from between two of the spell book’s pages. It was barely visible, but it was enough. “I know what this is,” she said softly.  
  
  
Summoning the folded newspaper to her waiting hand, she rapidly scanned the contents of the page. “Oh, no,” she moaned breathlessly. “No, no, no.” She quickly flipped the paper over. “This is yesterday’s Prophet. Come on, we have to hurry!”  
  
  
Albus stood rooted to the floor, watching his Aunt scramble to grab quills and parchment from her desk. “Aunt Hermione, what’s wrong?”  
  
  
“No time,” she shot back, grabbing two large books off of her shelf and tossing them to her nephew. “We have to go now.”  
  
  
He followed her meekly out the door, still trying to settle the books in his hands. Moments later they arrived at the lifts and Hermione began to pace nervously as they waited for a car. “Aunt Hermione, please,” Albus tried again, lowering his face to try to catch her frantic eyes. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”  
  
  
“Not a ghost,” she replied, pausing to take a breath, “a monster.” The lift doors opened and she hurried inside, nearly running into a pair of wizards who were getting out. “Come on, I’ll explain on the way.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Albus hustled to keep up with his aunt when the lift car delivered them to Level Nine of the Ministry. They rushed down the stairs and she turned sharply and tore off toward Courtroom Number Ten. A hearing already appeared to be in progress as she tore the doors open, but she was completely undaunted. “Begging the court’s pardon for my tardiness,” she half-yelled through rapid breaths. “Hermione Weasley of the Department of Magical Law, appearing on behalf of the Benevolent Order of Wizarding War Veterans.”  
  
  
Albus looked around the imposing room as she waited for an answer. The wizard in plum-colored robes standing at the front of the room seemed annoyed, and whispered softly to the court officer sitting next to him. The dais was sparsely populated. It seemed that few members of the Wizengamot had bothered to show up for whatever had sent his aunt into such a panic.  
  
  
“Mrs. Weasley, this is highly irregular,” the wizard replied in a terse, nasal voice. “Your lack of punctuality aside, this is a simple parole hearing.”  
  
  
His aunt had finally caught her breath, and she spoke with an authority that commanded the attention of the entire room. “With all due respect, the Order is statutorily empowered by Decree Six-Fifty-Three of the Wizengamot to intervene in all proceedings involving Death Eaters.” A low murmur arose from the room, and she seemed to take it as her opportunity to approach the dais. For the first time, Albus noticed a figure sitting in the defendant’s docket. The man was powerfully built, with long, unkempt-looking hair that was streaked with grey and tied back in a large ponytail. He wore the simple, black robes provided by the Wizengamot to all indigent defendants and he appeared to be making careful notes on a sheet of parchment in front of him. As they neared the front of the room, the man turned to face them and Albus felt his blood turn cold.  
  
  
Bushy eyebrows seemed to erupt from the man’s thickened brows. His scraggly beard was braided into several strands that were seamlessly connected to his hair by sideburns streaked with grey. His lips were slightly parted, and Albus could see the stains on his wicked-looking, pointed teeth. But it was the man’s eyes that truly make his skin crawl. They were hungry, leering... filled with the cold cruelty of a man who had long ago severed his last connections to humanity. And they were focused squarely on his aunt.  
  
  
“It’s been a long time, Granger,” the man drawled with a chilling, fake courtliness.  
  
  
“If I never saw you again, it would be too soon, Greyback,” she replied icily.  
  
  
The wizard in plum-colored robes tapped his gavel lightly on the podium. “Order, please! Mrs. Weasley, since this hearing has already begun, I must ask you to concede the portion of the defendant’s case that has already been entered into the record.”  
  
  
“As long as we still have an opportunity to make our case against Mr. Greyback’s parole, I’ll accept that,” she replied, lowering herself into a seat near the front of the court and gathering her things on the table in front of her.  
  
  
“Very well,” the wizard replied. He turned to a young clerk in formal black robes who stood near the dais. “Mr. Barnes, would you please summarize the court’s findings on Mr. Greyback’s petition?”  
  
  
The clerk nodded and cleared his throat, studying a sheet of parchment. “We have confirmed that Mr. Greyback has completed the rehabilitation and practical training programs made available to all prisoners of Azkaban. His instructors report that Mr. Greyback has been a model prisoner, following all rules of conduct and applying himself diligently in his studies to the greatest extent allowed by his condition.”  
  
  
“Please the court,” Hermione interrupted, staring pointedly at the young clerk, “does your report indicate whether Mr. Greyback has chosen to avail himself of the wolfsbane potion made freely available to him as a _sufferer_ ,” she put a mildly sarcastic emphasis on the word, “of lycanthropy?”  
  
  
“If I may,” Greyback interjected before the clerk could answer, “I find that I can't tolerate the foul taste of that concoction. My stomach has grown rather delicate with age and the poor quality of the food at Azkaban.”  
  
  
Albus studied his aunt as she rolled her eyes in response to the answer. In all the years he had known her, he couldn’t remember seeing her quite this out of sorts. She was doing almost nothing to conceal her disdain for the frightening looking man making his case to the Wizengamot. It wasn’t like her to ignore the courtly protocol of the council so blatantly.  
  
  
The wizard in plum-colored robes seemed determined to keep the hearing moving forward. Turning back to the clerk, he asked, “Have you uncovered anything in your investigation that would bar Mr. Greyback from being paroled under the Statute for the Rehabilitation and Integration of the Victims of Lycanthropy?”  
  
  
“ _What?_ ” Hermione shrieked as she exploded out of her seat. “That law wasn’t meant to set murderers free!”  
  
  
“Mrs. Weasley, restrain yourself!” The wizard at the podium seemed to be on the verge of losing his composure. “The statute clearly states that crimes committed because of the effects of lycanthropy may be considered on the merits of the-”  
  
  
“I know what it says. I wrote it!” Albus gently placed his hand on his aunt’s arm, trying to calm her, but she shook herself free. “There is nothing about lycanthropy that compels a man to declare his loyalty to Lord Voldemort and take part in atrocities committed against children.”  
  
  
“Begging the court’s pardon,” Greyback said softly, “but I freely admit to doing many things that I am not proud of due to my _condition_. That said, I have worked hard during my incarceration to put the past behind me. I’m here asking for a second chance. I’m sure I can prove myself worthy of the opportunity.”  
  
  
“You’ve proven everything you’ll ever need to,” Hermione snarled, fixing him with a blazing glare.  
  
  
“Order!” The wizard overseeing the trial banged his gavel against the podium. Hermione reluctantly returned to her seat. “Mrs. Weasley’s objections notwithstanding, this court finds that Mr. Greyback has completed all of the legal requirements necessary for him to be considered for parole under the Statute. If there is no other evidence to be presented, we will turn to the terms of Mr. Greyback’s parole.”  
  
  
“I believe there is one other question to be addressed,” Hermione cut in again, drawing exasperated glares from several members of the Wizengamot. “The statute states that parole must be denied in the case where the _victim_ presents a clear danger to himself or others.”  
  
  
One of the Wizengamot members spoke up from her seat on the dais. “Mrs. Weasley, we’ve seen no evidence that Mr. Greyback presents any greater risk to the public than any other werewolf who’s been freed pursuant to the statute.”  
  
  
Albus noticed that his aunt was thinking very hard, weighing what seemed to be a very difficult decision. Suddenly her head snapped up and she stared directly at the witch on the dais. “With all due respect, Mr. Greyback is not just any werewolf. But if it’s evidence you want, you’ll have it.” She turned back to the wizard in plum-colored robes at the podium. “I request a recess of one hour and that this hearing reconvene in the council’s Memory Chamber.”  
  
  
A loud groan arose from the few members present at the hearing, but the wizard overseeing the hearing merely scratched his chin thoughtfully. “And if this evidence does not prove convincing, then will you agree to drop your opposition to Mr. Greyback’s parole and allow us to proceed?”  
  
  
Hermione looked stricken. “I’m not prepared to make that commitment. We’re talking about a convicted Death Eater here.”  
  
  
“What’s the matter, Granger?” Greyback mumbled softly, leering at her through his fiendish, yellow eyes. “Afraid I’ve actually changed?”  
  
  
She didn’t even bother to look in his direction. “Hardly.”  
  
  
The wizard in plum-colored robes banged his gavel angrily. “Mrs. Weasley, we’ve wasted more than enough time on a simple parole hearing. Either you agree to let the council weigh your evidence and accept their judgment, or we will move on without it.”  
  
  
“Very well!” she replied, staring icily back. Albus noticed that she was studiously avoiding any eye contact with Greyback. The wizard at the podium adjourned the hearing and two Hit Wizards came to escort the prisoner to a holding cell near the courtroom.  
  
  
“See you soon,” Greyback sneered. “Maybe I’ll even stop by and meet the rest of your family after I’m free.”  
  
  
Albus grabbed his aunt’s arm as she started to turn angrily toward the grinning werewolf. “Come on,” he whispered, pulling her away. “Let’s go find someplace to talk.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
“I don’t get it,” Albus mumbled as he paged through the report on Greyback from Azkaban. His aunt continued to pore over the text of the lycanthropy statute that she had championed in the early days of her career in the Ministry. “This guy seems like exactly the type of werewolf that the statute was designed to help. He’s paid his debt to society and taken advantage of every opportunity to improve himself. It seems like you’d _want_ to help him.”  
  
  
Hermione cursed under her breath, showing no sign that she’d heard a word that he said. “How could I have been so stupid?” she mumbled, making notes as she read. “This is worded far too broadly.”  
  
  
Albus dropped the report onto the table separating them. The noise shook his aunt’s attention away from the documents laid out in front of her. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Aunt Hermione, but it seems like you’re taking this case personally.”  
  
  
His aunt stared at him for a long moment before setting down her quill and rubbing her eyes. “How much did Teddy tell you about his father?”  
  
  
“Teddy told me that he became a werewolf when he was young,” Albus answered softly, wary of the strong emotions he could sense just below the surface of her patient demeanor. ”He lived most of his life that way.”  
  
  
“That’s right,” she replied. Her eyes were burning with anger. “Did he tell you how it happened?”  
  
  
Albus shook his head slowly. He could tell that his aunt was fighting to keep from yelling. “When Remus Lupin was a young boy, his father paid Greyback an insult. Nobody even recalls what was said, but on the night of the next full moon, Greyback returned to the Lupins’ home, hid himself behind the house and he waited.”  
  
  
A chill ran down Albus’s spine as the scene played out in his mind. He shook his head, trying to drive the images away. “That’s not possible. Werewolves don’t choose to infect other people.”  
  
  
“You’re right, Albus. Because in Greyback’s mind, he’s not making them sick. He’s sharing a _gift_. He’s making them part of his family. Did you know that he prefers to bite children?” Albus shook his head in mute horror. His rational mind struggled to accept what he was hearing. “He would infect them and then try to lure them away from their families to join his pack. It was his way of fighting back against the world he felt had wronged him.”  
  
  
“Aunt Hermione, is that really true?” Albus replied. His mind was reeling. These were the sort of stories that had been used to justify prejudice against werewolves for centuries. To hear them coming from the woman who had fought for their cause throughout her career felt inconceivable. “When I look at him sitting in that courtroom, I see a man. A man with a terrible illness, but a man nevertheless. What you’re describing is a monster.”  
  
  
“Appearances don’t make someone a monster, Albus. Fenrir Greyback killed and infected scores of innocent people, including one that I’ll never forget as long as I live. He _is_ a monster. So to your point, you’re damn right I’m taking this personally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Hermione faces off against Greyback, trying to show that he's as dangerous as ever.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. What Big Teeth You Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you live among wolves you have to act like a wolf." - Nikita Khrushchev

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, that which you recognize from the books belongs to JK Rowling

The members of the Wizengamot gradually filed into the Memory Chamber located on Level Nine of the Ministry of Magic. Their seats overlooked the floor of the mammoth room like the balconies of a theater. High stone walls carved with thousands of intricate runes surrounded a stone floor that sloped gently into the center. The chamber was, in essence, a giant penseive.  
  
  
Hermione and Albus sat at a small table near the entrance, studying a silvery memory in a small glass vial. She had been carefully refining it since extracting it from her temple with her wand. Albus was generally aware of its contents, and he was surprised by how much she had struggled to recall it. The experience was painful to watch, and her words of warning once again echoed through his thoughts. He carefully checked to see that his wand was still inside his pocket.  
  
  
The doors opened and Greyback entered, surrounded by a trio of Hit Wizards. Again, Albus noticed that his aunt avoided looking in the man’s direction. Greyback paused, locking eyes with Albus.  
  
  
“You’re Harry Potter’s boy, aren’t you?”  
  
  
Albus nodded uneasily. “Do you know my father?”  
  
  
Greyback chuckled, looking almost wistful. “We know each other alright. If he saw you standing this close to me, he’d probably have a stroke.” Greyback turned to follow the Hit Wizards toward the defendant’s table. Without looking back, he growled, “Let him know I said hi.”  
  
  
Whether she was satisfied with the memory or simply out of time, Hermione set the vial on the table in front of them. “Listen to me, Albus,” she whispered, wrapping her fingers gently around his elbow. “I can’t completely predict what’s going to happen when he sees this. Keep an eye on him and stay close to me. And if anything goes wrong, get out of here as fast as you can and don’t stop running until you get to your dad’s office. Understand?”  
  
  
Albus nodded dumbly, unnerved by his aunt’s deathly serious expression but confused as to what could possibly go wrong. Greyback might be a werewolf, but the full moon was three weeks away. He was wandless, surrounded by three Hit Wizards and they were deep in the bowels of the Ministry. Only a fool would try to escape under those circumstances.  
  
  
Word of Hermione’s bold challenge to Greyback’s petition had apparently gotten around. Albus noted that there were at least three times as many members of the Wizengamot seated in the gallery above them as there had been in the courtroom on Level Ten. Their probing stares left him feeling more than a little uncertain about what she was doing. His aunt had been a champion of equal rights for werewolves since before he was born. Now they were all debating the fate of a werewolf who had been locked away in Azkaban on the day the war ended, and she was fighting tooth and nail to keep him there. Albus found it hard to wrap his head around, even though something about Fenrir Greyback chilled him to the bone.  
  
  
“This court is once again in session.” The amplified voice of the wizard in plum-colored robes boomed throughout the cavernous, stone room. He rapped the gavel firmly from his spot the lectern at the front of the gallery. “Mrs. Weasley has challenged the petitioner’s assertion that he no longer poses a danger to society, and claims to have memory evidence supporting her contention. The Wizengamot will now see this evidence.”  
  
  
Hermione stood and walked to the center of the room. She emptied to contents of the vial into the center of the floor, then waved her wand. The air in the room began to swirl, distorting to shapes and colors of its walls. Albus felt slightly queasy as his brain reacted to the blur of motion surrounding him. Suddenly the images coalesced into an equally cavernous room, dimly lit by a few scattered torches burning along the walls. It took Albus several seconds to recognize the Great Hall of Hogwarts, and based on the muffled gasps arising from the gallery above, he wasn’t the only one who had never imagined it in such a state.  
  
  
The house tables were either swept aside or blasted to bits. Huge chunks of stone were missing from the walls and most of the windows were shattered. The great house banners hung in shreds, and several large holes allowed the actual stars to shine alongside their enchanted counterparts on the ceiling overhead. The dust and smoke that hung in the air muffled the already sparse light of the remaining torches. But the physical devastation was quickly lost as Albus’s reeling brain began to process the horrifying sight that awaited as he walked slowly, numbly toward his aunt’s side.  
  
  
Bodies. Everywhere he looked, the prone forms of the dead and injured filled the spaces between the piles of rubble. Some of the dead had been covered with sheets or discarded cloaks. Others, mostly the Death Eaters, merely lay where they had fallen. The terror of their final moments was etched on the faces that looked up at Albus from the dusty, blood-stained flagstones. It made his blood run cold. When Greyback spoke, he nearly jumped out of his skin.  
  
  
“It isn’t going to work, Granger,” the werewolf declared softly. “I’ve made my peace with the past.” Albus turned to study the man, and it was apparent that he found the room unsettling in his own way. Something seemed to be stirring inside him, just below the placid surface of his composure. What it was, Albus couldn’t say, but he drew closer to Hermione, torn between the need to protect her and the urge to hide behind her legs as he did when he was a small child.  
  
  
“Here they come,” his aunt said softly to nobody in particular. Albus could hear a cacophony of shouts, cracks and pops from outside the shattered doors. Suddenly a surge of witches and wizards erupted into the hall. First came the defenders, backing up as they cast shield charms to repel the hail of curses that followed them. On their heels came the Death Eaters, fighting a battle on two fronts as the centaurs and villagers from Hogsmeade pursued them from behind. He instinctively drew his wand and moved to shield her from the advancing melee.  
  
  
“Don’t worry about them, they can’t hurt you,” she whispered into his ear. He turned to see that her wand was drawn as well, but her focus was squarely and exclusively on Greyback. “The real danger is over there.”  
  
  
The werewolf’s dark eyes were flitting around nervously as the combat drew nearer. His clawed fingers clenched and unclenched reflexively, and it seemed to Albus that he had shrunk slightly as his posture gradually gave way to more of a crouch. The Hit Wizards surrounding him seemed oblivious to the changes as they watched the battle play out around them. Albus stepped aside as a young man he recognized as his Uncle Bill passed by, dueling fiercely against a tall, grim-looking wizard with a pointed beard. New cries of pain and suffering started to punctuate the loud cracks of spells caroming off of the battered stone walls.  
  
  
The entire building shook as a giant stumbled into the outside of the castle walls. Dust and smoke once again filled the air. Friend and foe alike began to fall, struck down by the relentless barrage of curses that seemed to come from every direction. A chorus of small cries erupted from the back of the hall as even the kitchen elves joined in the fight, striking at the ankles of the Death Eaters with their cutlery. Albus tore his eyes away from the battle and found his aunt still staring intently at Greyback, who was now surveying the room greedily. His eyes were filled with bloodlust and his shoulders heaved as his breathing quickened. It struck Albus as nearly impossible that this was the quiet, resolute man he recalled from the Wizengamot courtroom.  
  
  
“Not long now,” Hermione whispered urgently. “Stay close to me!”  
  
  
Near the entrance of the hall, Albus spotted a tall, pallid figure that could only be Lord Voldemort. He was dueling Minister Shacklebolt, Professor McGonagall and a short, balding old wizard in green pajamas simultaneously. The tales that his family shared about the notorious dark wizard did little justice to his terrifying presence. He effortlessly engaged three formidable opponents while directing the attack of his forces. No spell seemed able to touch him, and everyone in the hall gave him a wide berth.  
  
  
Albus forced his gaze away from the Dark Lord and stole a look around. The members of the Wizengamot were transfixed, their eyes darting to and fro as the curses flew. The Hit Wizards also stared intently at the drama playing out across the room. Only his aunt and Greyback weren’t paying attention. Greyback’s dark eyes were intently focused on a young woman who was leaning against a pile of crumbled stone for support. Blood seeped through a makeshift bandage covering her neck and shoulder and her right arm hung uselessly by her side. She appeared to barely have the strength to sit up, but like everyone else in the cavernous room, she was focused on the legendary confrontation.  
  
  
A deafening shriek erupted from the far end of the hall, followed by what sounded like a cannon blast. Albus spun around just in time to see Shacklebolt and McGonagall flailing in the air as they were blown backward by the Dark Lord’s explosive rage. Near the wall, Nanna Weasley stood triumphant, having just struck down a terrifying woman with wild, black hair. Voldemort leveled his wand at her and unleashed a curse that struck a shield spell seemingly cast from nowhere. As the entire hall gasped in collective wonder, he heard his aunt cry out in alarm.  
  
  
Albus turned away from his father’s moment of triumph just in time to see Greyback slam his forearm into the side of one Hit Wizard’s head while his powerful legs caught a second squarely in the midsection. A look of primal aggression filled the werewolf’s dark eyes as his movements became fluid and instinctive, almost too fast for the eye to follow. The two men fell limply to the flagstones and Greyback fixed the third Hit Wizard with a bloodthirsty leer. Albus barely had time to draw his wand before the man landed on his back, bleeding from a gaping wound in the side of his neck. Greyback spun to face them and Albus could see the bright red stains on his hands and chin whiskers.  
  
  
Hermione flung a curse at the werewolf but Greyback was faster, leaping out of the way just before the jet of red light cracked against the stone wall. He landed in a crouch and Albus saw his face for a fraction of a second before he launched himself toward Hermione. The veneer of humanity was gone, and what he found underneath was raw, animalistic rage. The commotion was enough to draw the attention of several members of the Wizengamot who were pointing and shouting in alarm. Greyback ignored them and began to advance on Albus and Hermione. He used all four of his powerful limbs to leap from side to side, following an uneven, zig-zagging path. It made him a nearly impossible target.  
  
  
“Run!” His aunt shouted the order while sweeping her wand arm toward him. Albus suddenly felt himself being thrown backward, away from the charging werewolf. As he landed on his backside and scrambled to his feet, the memory swirled and faded away, exposing the large double doors leading to the hallway on Level Nine. For a brief moment, he wondered what had happened to the various people he had seen dueling in his aunt’s memory, especially the young woman with the severely wounded shoulder. The way out was directly in front of him and his aunt’s instructions were still ringing in his ears, but leaving her to face the danger alone was out of the question. He turned and tried to aim his wand, but Greyback was simply too quick. The one curse he managed to get off caromed harmlessly off of the stone floor.  
  
  
As Hermione backed away, Greyback switched directions again, trying to circumvent the tip of her wand. This time she anticipated his maneuver and struck him with a knockback jinx. He tumbled backward through the air, but managed to twist his body around and land on his feet next to the defendant’s docket. Grabbing a chair in each hand, he hurled them toward her. Hermione managed to turn the first aside with another spell, but the second struck her in the back, knocking her to the ground. Greyback let out a victorious growl and launched himself toward her prone form.  
  
  
“ _Protego Maxima!_ ” Al cast the most powerful shield he could manage between his aunt and Greyback. The werewolf landed on all fours in front of the shield and made what seemed like an impossibly sharp turn. Albus cast a pair of stunning spells at Greyback, who dodged them easily. He was able to fall backward just enough to soften the blow to his chest from Greyback’s fist. It kept his ribs from breaking, but the air was knocked out of his lungs and his wand slipped from his limp grasp as his back slammed into the stone floor.  
  
  
Greyback was on top of him instantly, baring a mouthful of sharpened teeth. Albus could smell his foul breath as he struggled feebly to cover his throat. The next instant, the werewolf’s body seemed to be bathed in an angry red glow and he tumbled forward over Albus’s head. Another jet of red light seared the air and Albus heard Greyback groan sharply. He managed to raise his head just enough to see his aunt advancing toward him with her wand pointed over top of his body and her eyes blazing with barely contained fury. A third blast erupted from her wand and he heard Greyback’s body slam against the stone floor like a sack of potatoes.  
  
  
Albus slowly, painfully rolled over onto his hands and knees as Hermione stalked around him. Greyback was also trying to pull himself off of the floor. He managed to lift his chin just enough to meet her stare. The low growl in his throat was all the provocation she needed. “ _STUPEFY!_ ” The spell was delivered with furious intensity and the werewolf’s muscular body bounced several times across the floor before finally coming to rest.  
  
  
With a flick of her wrist she rolled Greyback onto his back. Thick magical ropes erupted from the end of her wand, surrounding him. A sharp, muffled gasp of pain escaped his lips as his limbs were bound tightly to his body. Hermione came to a stop next to where he lay, pointing her wand at his face, daring him to move again.  
  
  
“This isn’t over,” Greyback mumbled between shallow, gasping breaths.  
  
  
She stared down at him with furious contempt, her voice barely more than a hiss. “Rot in hell, you monster.”  
  
  
The doors to the Memory Chamber burst open and three Aurors ran into the room with their wands out. Hermione merely nodded at Greyback’s body before spinning on her heel. “Get this out of my sight,” she ordered without even looking back.  
  
  
As Albus dragged himself to his feet, he watched in awe as his aunt stormed over to stand in front of the wizard in plum-colored robes. The man’s face was white as a sheet and he seemed to be gripping the lectern for support. “If there’s no further doubt among the honorable members as to the fitness of Mr. Greyback to re-enter society, the Benevolent Order of Wizarding War Veterans rests its case.” She paused for just a moment, surveying the ashen faces staring back at her from the gallery before turning and walking out of the Memory Chamber with her head held high.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Greyback’s fearsome likeness graced the front page of the evening edition of the Daily Prophet as he was dragged from the Ministry of Magic on his way back to Azkaban. Hermione breezed through the accompanying article, paying little attention to the customarily shoddy write-up of the day’s events. She was sitting in a coffee shop in Lancaster, sipping a cup of herbal tea and watching the old, wrought-iron gates of a graveyard across the street. What she was looking for she couldn’t quite say.  
  
  
By and by, a stocky male form in a long coat appeared on the other side of the gates. The man took a careful look around and began to stroll up the stone path. Hermione left a few muggle notes on her table and hurried across the street, clutching and old textbook under her arm. She let herself in and walked along the path the mysterious man had taken.  
  
  
Just over a small hill, she came to the spot where she knew to wait. Fresh lilacs lay on the ground in front of a dignified marble headstone next to an elm tree. As the cool breeze blew through her hair, Hermione tightened her traveling cloak and waited. She knew that he would be cautious, even though she had taken all the necessary measures to make sure they were alone. Nobody knew where she was, not even Ron.  
  
  
“So it’s done, then?”  
  
  
Hermione didn’t turn around. She knew he was there without looking.  
  
  
“Yes, it’s done. He can’t even be considered for parole for another five years. We’ll be ready next time.”  
  
  
He took a step forward, draping his arm over her shoulders. “Ya did good, Hermione. No doubt she was smilin’ down on ya.”  
  
  
Hermione wrapped her arm around his waist, enjoying the quiet familiarity of an old and dear friend. But the moment passed, and only the question remained.  
  
  
“Seamus, how long are you-”  
  
  
“Shhh,” he cut her off, squeezing her shoulders a little tighter. “Let’s just enjoy the moment a while longer, lass. She wouldn’t want us to bicker.”  
  
  
“I’m not bickering,” she replied quietly, keeping the bossiness out of her voice as best she could. “Why do you keep living like this? Scraping by, working in seedy muggle pubs. She wouldn’t have wanted this for you.”  
  
  
“No more than I wanted her to die,” he answered grimly. Hermione listened as he took a deep, tormented breath, calming himself. “Neither of us ended up with what the other wanted.”  
  
  
“Please, just talk to Harry. He’ll sort things out for you and you can come back to where you belong.”  
  
  
Seamus snorted in response. “Yeah, talk to Harry. Fat lot o’ good he’s done to help.”  
  
  
“That isn’t fair, Seamus,” she replied quietly. “You tried to break into Azkaban and murder someone. He and Ron were still Junior Aurors then. They had to call in a lot of favors to keep the investigation quiet so the Ministry didn’t launch an all-out manhunt for you.”  
  
  
“They shoulda used those favors to get inside where they coulda finished the bastard off,” he grumbled, letting his arm slide off of her shoulder.  
  
  
Hermione sighed, then turned to face her former housemate. “Seamus, we fought the war to win back our freedom and make the world safe again, not so that we could go around settling scores and doling out vigilante justice.”  
  
  
“And how is the world any safer with a monster like that still breathin’?” he retorted. “My war wasn’t quite as high-minded as yours, Hermione. I fought to keep people I loved from dyin’.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “An’ I failed somethin’ miserable.”  
  
  
She watched him for a moment as he stared at the flowers adorning the grave in front of them. Then she reached out and took his hand. “She knew the risks, just like everybody else. She was strong and brave and she died fighting for something that she believed in.”  
  
  
“She was gentle as a lamb,” Seamus mused softly, “but when the Carrows pushed her, they woke a lion. Twasn’t fair. She never shoulda been forced to change like that.”  
  
  
They stood for several minutes, letting the silence speak for them.  
  
  
“Why did you send me this, Seamus? Why did you raise the alarm?”  
  
  
He didn’t quite meet her stare when he answered. “They woulda let him go otherwise.”  
  
  
“And you would have hunted him down and killed him,” she replied, squeezing his hand a little tighter. “Instead, you made sure he went back to prison. Why?”  
  
  
Seamus stubbed the toe of his boot against the grass for a moment. “You’re not the only one who thinks about what she woulda wanted.” He lifted his eyes, meeting her gaze. “I’m tryin’, Hermione. Honest. Someday, I’ll be ready to take Harry up on his offer. But it’s hard. And I’m not there yet.”  
  
  
Hermione could feel the pain and uncertainty in his voice, but also a glimmer of hope. “Whenever you’re ready, we’ll do whatever it takes to make things right with the Ministry.”  
  
  
His face broke into a sad smile. Hermione handed him the old textbook and allowed him to pull her into a warm embrace. “Thank you, lass,” he whispered into her ear.  
  
  
“Take good care of yourself, Seamus. We all miss you.”  
  
  
“I miss you too, lass. I’ll get better, I promise.”  
  
  
They said their goodbyes quietly and each made their own way out of the graveyard. At the foot of the marble tombstone, the lilac petals fluttered gently in the cool night breeze.  
  
  
 _Lavender Brown_  
 _2 January 1980_  
 _2 May 1998_  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of notes on this chapter. The title is, of course, borrowed from Little Red Riding Hood. The fact that Lavender didn't survive the war is quasi-canon. JKR said in an interview that she died from her injuries after being attacked by Greyback. The relationship between Lavender and Seamus is something that I've seen in a few really amazing fan fics, so it stuck in my head.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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